With a space of time placed, I plotted trajectories and saw the erosion had reached cataclysm. Then, as if to prove me worthy of the salt being poured, approached I was. Wound open, I suspected jocular pranks for which I had no time. Shy of this mark, I pried words and did demand of the silent salt seller to discover the intent of the closed fisted pleading. I was given counting pieces from said vendor!
"I do not want your counting pieces!!!!" I writhed inside.
Then came the now confirmed cataclysm. If the proxy carried such sway to stir sellers of salt to one so woeful and wounded, can one claim clairvoyance? Perplexed by proximity, I prefer gaps. Sleep and poor choices flow out of hand. These small numbers sewn into safety and secure out of pocket, I requested an audience. As always a misreading of events makes minimal the response. I'm reduced to a small mound of assumptions. Only two plus full and long days plod by to reach me into this day. Into this time. Who knows the distance of time to reach the outside, where syncopated waves steal secrets.
There is that time ahead as there is that timer headed to an end point.
"I want two bicycle wheels..."
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